Little Evie, You're Something Special
by ChasingPavements19
Summary: Everyone loved little Evelyn Grant. She had an adorable laugh, springy little curls, and a smile that no one could forget. Your heart would melt and soar at the sight of such a child. Everyone loved little Evie- everyone- just some more than others.
1. Glass

**_I don't write smut well, so if that was what you were hoping for. . . STAY, DEAR GOD because this story is gonna be so much better than lemons._ P.S. I have seen the reviews urging me to update "To Delineate" and it's coming. I swear it's coming, just for y'all that wanted to know. Enjoy!**

* * *

Evelyn Grant was a lucky little girl. The only parents she had known loved her very much. And for a bright, rosey cheeked little girl, the undying love of an adoptive mother, and the cold, if not, distant love of an adoptive father was enough. She didn't look like any of the them, her brothers, her sister, her mom. She bared no immediate resemblance to them, not really anyway. Once a little boy in her preschool had taken the opportunity to point this out to her.

"You're_ adopted."_ Adopted, he had said it like a curse, up close and in her face to hurt her and make her feel low. She pouted about it for the rest of the day but didn't cry. Evie didn't believe in crying. That is until she could run into her mother's arms when she got home.

When she gave her a bath later that night, her mother, Mellie explained it to her like this, " You are such a beautiful little girl, and your Daddy and I love you so much. More than anything. We _chose _you, so you're even more special. That's what adopted means, Evie. Special."

With her soft light brown complexion, a head full of perfect curls, and big brown eyes, Evie Grant truly was something special.

Mellie put her to sleep that night reassured. She slept soundly in her big, white princess bed with her teddy clinging close to her face. When she came out of the bedroom, her tired husband was just walking through the front door.

"Fitz, hi." Mellie said weakly.

"Hey. " he responded. He could tell by the way she was standing before him that she had something on her mind. He never much cared for heavy talks with his wife. It left him with a bad taste in his mouth.

"Why don't you sit down for a minute, hon. I need to talk to you about something." Mellie said, trying not to sound too unnerved.

"What?"

"We should talk about Evie." she said looking him square.

It was a hard thing to do, talk about Evie.

It was hard for Fitz to even look at Evelyn some days. He didn't want to spend time with her like most doting fathers did. Mellie had pressed him to do so at first. She used to rock her to sleep at night, cooing and carrying on. She would offer her to Fitz who would fervently shake his head. Mellie would shrug off, feeling rejected and Fitz would be left alone to his thoughts and sadness.

Such heartbroken people. Such a sorrowful little family. With their secrets and their guilt pressed so close to their chests.

No one ever liked to talk about Evie, or the love from which she came. The bond that broke when her mother, her real mother, died.

* * *

Teddy Grant had all of his father's love and affection. He was well deserving of it. Smart, outgoing, charismatic, athletic even at his age- Teddy Grant was worthy of everyone's love. It came to him so easily, and so he, too loved all who loved him. Teddy took all of Fitz's pride, and none was left for his little sister, or at least that was how it felt for Evie. Fitz held Teddy, showed him things, taught him things, took time away for him. They were only two years apart, but for Evelyn, sometimes it seemed as if she had never been born at all.

When her Daddy would pull up to the driveway after a long trip, they both would come running outside, but only Teddy got picked up. When they were four and six, Evie learned how to ride a bike the same week Teddy learned to swim. But Fitz was only there for one of those events.

Mellie, Karen and Jerry made up for the affection that Fitz lacked. Jerry was an angsted-up seventeen, but not too far gone. Karen was nineteen and out of the house, but loved taking care of Evie (she had always wanted a little sister) And Mellie was her mom. She doted on her, made her feel loved when no one else did. Sometimes her mother and father would look upon her with such sadness , and she would wonder where it came from. They would stand in silence and simply watch her. Study her, looking for signs of something- something Little Evie would never come to know, but _Evelyn_ would come to familiarize herself with.

Still, her mother and sister and brothers' love was enough to make her forget what emptiness lie within her most days because everyone loved little Evelyn Grant- everyone -just some more than others.

At the age of eight when Teddy started playing soccer, Fitz bought a big white goal and stuck in the backyard of the ranch. They spent an entire Saturday playing out in the grass while Evie watched from inside.

She sat on the tall stool in the kitchen, swinging her legs back and forth, and her big sister, Karen came downstairs with her Ipod blaring. "Don't you want to go outside?" She asked cheerfully. She looked over and saw Evie gazing longingly out the screen door, watching Teddy and her father play. She felt something in that moment. An obligation to cheer her sister up. She couldn't explain it though. It was as if she had sensed a longing in her and felt the need to make it disappear.

"Why don't we go for ice cream?" she said, grabbing the keys to the Range Rover.

Everyone loved Evelyn Grant. Everyone. Just some more than others.

When they returned, their father had stopped playing but Teddy remained.

"Come on, Evie. Try it!" Teddy showed her how to kick the ball that was almost bigger than he was straight into the goal. At first Evie swung her little foot but missed the ball completely. She tried again, missed.

"Like this." he demonstrated. Taking his lead, she tried again. This time the ball flew in the goal with a whoosh.

They screamed with glee and did a victory lap around the backyard. Evie tried her luck again, this time kicking the ball really, really hard. It went straight into a downstairs window and both kids exchanged guilty glances.

"Uh-oh." They both ran back inside and tried to clean up the mess. They were picking up shards of glass when Fitz came back downstairs.

"What's happened? Evelyn, Teddy what happened?" he said putting his hands at his sides.

"Daddy-" Evie started looking shocked and guilty. She didn't know how her father would react to her confession. She'd never done anything wrong before. She always treaded lightly, never spoke out of turn when Fitz was around. She didn't want to give him any reason to criticize. She had acquired the art of treading lightly even at the age of six, remarkable, come to think of it.

But as perfect, shaggy haired big brothers do, Teddy stepped in, "It's my fault Dad. I was showing her how to get the ball in and I kicked it too hard. I'm sorry. We'll get it cleaned up." he said honestly.

"It's okay." Fitz looked down at his son's palm that was dripping red. "Come on here, your bleeding." he said with concern. He put his hand on her brother's shoulder and took him to clean the blood off. He said nothing more to Evie.

She stayed crouched down picking up the rest of the glass. The housekeeper could have done it, but she wanted to prove herself, too like her brother did. She fisted the shards of glass she collected, and when they dug so deep into her skin that her hands bled, she didn't cry. Physical pain wasn't something to cry over.

* * *

_**Alors, what do you think? Seriously, I'm on Spring Break so if more people read and review, I will update as much as I possibly can. This story is going places, trust me. But, prepare to have your heart shattered (sorry!) My goal is to destroy you with feels.**_


	2. Snapshot

**You guys are so lovely! The reviews are much appreciated. This was a difficult chapter to write, but I managed to pull through. Tell me what you think?**

* * *

Fitz's adoration, when it came to Evie, came in short, powerful bursts. Sporadic and inconsistent, but more potent than anything.

When she was seven, she performed in her schools talent show. The other kids played piano, or cello, something fitting of private school. But Evie had heart set on singing James Morrison's, "If You Don't Wanna Love Me" It was the night of the talent show, and she knew that her mother couldn't make it. Teddy had a little league game that night, and that was where her parents were. She peaked out from behind the stage and saw Karen and Jerry sitting in the front row. All was a buzz backstage, and she was so nervous.

When she stepped out onto the stage, before the music started, Evie was fidgety. She looked in the front row and saw her brother, her sister, and. . . her Dad. He made it. Suddenly, her nerves dissolved. When the music started, she was ready.

The show ended. The house lights came back on, and she ran out to greet her patiently waiting family. Her father, of course had already been ambushed by a hoard of people. They were flashing pictures, smiling, shaking hands. Secret service watched within close proximity.

"Great job up there!" They all said.

When the crowd cleared, Fitz looked down to her, beaming. And in a rare, precious moment of praise, Fitzgerald said these exact words, "Congratulations, Evie! You did so good up there, sweetheart." he pulled out a little bouquet of flowers that matched the violet dress Mellie had picked out for her.

A snapshot of this moment, click. Lifetime memory made for a little girl who wanted a Daddy and got a President instead.

Evelyn glowed from head to toe. Taking advantage of the moment, Evie wrapped her arms around her father's waist. "Thank you, Daddy."

They rode home together in silence that night, the good kind.

* * *

Mellie and Fitz officially adopted Evie when she was only a month old. That was all her mother had disclosed to her. She rarely asked anything more about how she came to be in their lives. Around Mellie, it was never a concern. Around her father, whom she loved and feared in a Machiavellian way, the question of her origins always floated into her mind, grazed at her subconscious.

Evie was everybody's dream come true. With her sweet cherub face and childish charm, the media fell instantly for the former President Fitzgerald Grant's adopted daughter. Evelyn was adopted right at the end of her father's first term. He never ran for re-election. The media begged to know why, but the Grants told the papers that he wanted to "focus on his family." Langston won the next term, with Fitz's full support.

Once out of office, there was the question of what to do next, both personally and professionally. The Grants, all six of them, headed back for Santa Barbara where the kids would hope to see some normalcy. Teddy and Evie could start elementary school. Karen and Jerry could finish out their last couple of years in private school. It seemed fitting. With the children coming and going, Mellie and Fitz would be forced to spend even less time together than before, which was ideal. Fitz and Mellie's marriage behind closed doors was always cold, dead. But he had an obligation to his family, so even as a_ former_ Commander-in-Chief, divorce was still out of the question.

Still, everyone waited anxiously to see what Fitz's follow up would be. A dramatic stage left departure from his family? A tailspin into madness or despair? In light of _recent events _such behavior almost seemed appropriate. Almost.

_Recent Events._ That's what they called it when something calamitous happens, something earth-shattering.

It's August of 2012.

"Due to recent events, your father has decided not to run in the next election."

"Is this about Evie?" Jerry asked.

A pregnant pause found its way into the room. Mellie's head jerked over to Fitz who was sitting in a chair separate from the rest of them, head hung, silent. He gave no response, except a subtle flinch when the infant's name was mentioned. The wound was still too fresh. It would stay too fresh for as long as she lived.

"No." Mellie lied, looking to her husband sympathetically.

/

Trapped, drowning, spinning, his life was in free fall. Chaos stirred within him. Turmoil made him weak. On the surface he was fine. He had to be. He was going through the motions. He had done it all before, but this was much more severe.

Death freezes the living eternally. No amount of _new life-_ no matter how precious or innocent- can ever revocate that pain. Sometimes, it makes it worse.

Mellie understood. Mellie saw. He never did give her enough credit. Despite whatever hang ups they might have had with each other, Mellie had always known what her husband needed. She knew the pain he was in, but she also knew that there was nothing she could do to stop it. She had had a hand in his anguish. She did. No use in denying it. Little Evie was her chance to be better because she_ loved_ her. She loved her even when she had no business loving someone else's child. That was who Evie was, that's what she did. She enchanted people.

/

It's June 11, 2012 and new life is being ripped from her mother's insides. She's bloody, screaming and blue. Welcome to the world, little girl. Her mother's gone, but she won't know the difference.

/

It's June 11, 2012 and Cyrus is running down the hallways of the White House. He's panting and beet red, veins pop out of his neck. He skips the formalities when he bursts into the Oval Office where a meeting is being held. "Fitz- Mr. Mr. President, sir- please, it's urgent." he says.

Fitz sighs and shakes his head. "I'm sorry, this meeting is adjourned everyone." he said, standing up. He looked to Cyrus after everyone had filed out, "I don't think I can stand much more bad news, Cy." the President remarks, half-joking. He has no idea of what transpired, what transpires in that very moment.

* * *

It's 2019 Evie looks to her father, the President, who chose tonight to make her feel loved. He came to her show, gave her flowers and told her these exact words, "Congratulations, Evie! You did so good up there, sweetheart."

She thinks of saying something to him, but doesn't.

"Your mother would be so proud." he stutters. He can barely get the words out. In the limo, is face looks somber and dark.

Evie thinks he means Mellie. He doesn't.


	3. Four Years Since

**I know, I know. "It's been too long!" "You should've updated sooner!" I hear ya. School is wrecking my ability to write, but I'm getting back to it.**

* * *

2012. _Post_.

Two weeks after the event. After their small, intricate world crescendoed and fell, everyone stirred, and nobody talked. And silence, especially the silence of Fitz, didn't sit well with Cyrus.

In the many meetings he'd been included in, Cyrus would look over to the President, hoping to find a trace of a man in mourning. Cy studied his mannerisms, like the way he cleared his throat lightly and furrowed his brow before speaking.

Fitzgerald ate dinner at six now, every single day, instead of before when he was eating whenever he got the chance. Six o'clock every day. And Mellie waited for him everyday.

They ate in peace mostly. Though, one night out of the blue Fitz asked, 'What do you remember about us, from before?' without putting his fork down.

"Nothing." Mellie whispered, being driven mad on the inside by the untimely absurdity of the question.

And they went back to eating.

/

"Mr. President, I'm not going to give you a speech about sausage or how you're ticking. I'm not going to do that. You don't need a pitbull right now, you need a friend. And that may not be me because I know, I _know _that you blame me for what's happened. I know that you're hurting-"

"Cyrus-"

"No. I'm hurting, too, sir. We all are. We've all lost something because of what's happened. But we have to keep going. I have to keep going, fight the good fight because frankly, sir, it's the only thing that will keep me sane. I'm not going to tell you what to do. I won't begin to tell you how to grieve because I don't know what to do when," he stumbles on the words. "in a situation when the love of your life-" he can't finish it. He can't say it aloud. "I'm sorry, Fitz. I'm sorry." was all he could muster.

* * *

Fourth of July, 2016. Cyrus and James were hosting a celebratory barbeque. It wasn't really Cyrus' thing, but it was a_ normal_ thing.

After all was said and done four years earlier, it seemed that everyone needed their fair share of normal. After Fitz's abdication, Cyrus found himself without a bone to chase, so he and his husband and his daughter got some normal. Cyrus took a position at Georgetown University. James, who had stopped reporting, was offered a book deal on going from intrepid reporter to daddy day care in one of the most thrilling cities in the world. Baby Ella, who wasn't much of a baby anymore, had started school, a proud moment in both of their lives.

Cyrus, who had taken on another 20 pounds thanks to his cozy life, sometimes laid up at night for hours. He thought of how cruel life was now. When all was quiet and he lay down to close his eyes every night, all of the horrendous things he had done and seen came bubbling to the surface. He tried to sever his instincts, his win-at-all-costs ethic, but the memories of what he had done haunted him still.

His anxiety and insomnia brought him to his garden one night. He slipped on pair of boots and gloves while still in his pajamas, and squeaked out into the backyard with a flashlight and a scooper.

When James woke up that morning, he went downstairs to make his coffee and fetch the paper. Realizing that Cyrus' car was still in the driveway, he'd wondered just where was his husband?

He padded out to the garden, saw Cyrus crouched over a pile of dirt, sopped in sweat and grime, panting like a wild person. He was furiously digging into the earth.

"Cy-"

"There's just so much of it." he mumbled.

"Of what?"

"I-I can't get it all. I can't."

"Get what Cyrus?"

"The dirt. It- it's too much, I can't get it all. I want to plant seeds. I can't. I can't. There's too much dirt in the way."

"Why don't you come inside? We can talk in there." James said, putting a hand on Cy's shoulder, and he subsided.

/

"It's a nice garden, Cy." Fitz put cup of punch to his lips. They both stood by the cooler, watching their kids splash noisy waves into the pool and giggle. The smell of grilling hot dogs and burgers wafted through the summer air. The sky was clear and let forth a blaring sunlight that abused their eyes.

"I appreciate that. You know, it's nice planting something, watching it grow. But you know that better than anyone, don't you, family man?"

"Whatever happened to man of the people?" Fitz replied smugly.

Cyrus nearly choked on his beer. He tried to hide it gracefully by covering his mouth. He fell into a bit of a coughing spell. "Come on, Fitz, why don't you grab a beer?" he said opening up the cooler.

"No, no." Fitz chuckled. "I'm a family man now, Mr. Beene. Plus I don't like beer, you remember."

"How old are all the members of the Grant camp, anyway?"

Fitz began to rattle them off like Von Trapp children, "Karen's eighteen, just moved out. Gerry's seventeen, the messiest kid maybe ever, can't wait 'til he moves out-"

Cyrus chuckled.

"Teddy's six now. Can you believe it?"

"Yeah, Ella too. They grow up so fast. It's incredible. With everything going on at work and what else have you, sometimes I get home at night and look at her drawing at the table or reading her books, and I'll think, where's _babbling, crying_ bundle of joy?" Cyrus marveled.

"You can't take your eye off them for too long. That's the problem. You're lucky you and James have it all together. Two sets of eyes instead of one."

Cyrus nodded. "We are- pretty together. What about you and the First Lady? How together are you all nowadays?"

"All things considered, we're okay. Our marriage was always what it was, but with the job, everything was magnified. Like being in a snow globe. Being out of the White House, they can all breathe a little easier."

" And what about you, you breathing any easier?"

Fitz chuckled a cynical, forced noise and hung his head to respond, "It's been four years. Four years since renouncing the title, four years since giving up the throne. America's living under their first female President, and they _love _her. My whole family and yours is here, on one of the clearest days I've ever seen. And it's the fourth of July. We're here to celebrate freedom, the American Dream, two-hundred and forty years in the making. Isn't everybody breathing easy?"

"I would look that way."

"It is." Fitz said definitively.

"How's the little one?" Cyrus asked carefully.

"Evie? Little Evie, she's everything. All of it in one."

* * *

What's Cy's problem? What's keeping him up at night?

Share your questions, requests, whatevers in reviews or PM's. Thanks!


	4. Nightmare

**Hey, look at that, new update time. Your reviews are much welcomed and very much appreciated. It's late and this is quite hot off the presses, I was too excited about it to save it. I hope you like. . . **

* * *

**Nightmare**

She's four and little, and having quite a bit of trouble sleeping.

Sometimes evil night-things slipped into Evie's dreams, lingering, moaning, whistling like the wind, only to fade away. When the night-things came, Evie liked to hop out of her bed and go sleep by her mother's side with her favorite stuffed white rabbit in hand. "Mamone" she called it. Mamone was daisy-petal white, with floppy ears and limbs and a round pink tummy. When they slept together, Mamone's plush, white cheeks would rub softly against her own.

She snuck into her parents room. It was rather dark, but her feet knew the way. Evie made gentle steps to the right side of the bed where her Mom slept, but Mellie wasn't there, and neither was Fitz.

She padded downstairs, dragging her plaything along the hallway. Rounding the corner, she noticed a warm yellow light coming from the kitchen and thought she heard her mother's voice. She merely peaked in so as to not be seen as Mellie and Fitz whispered harshly at each other.

"You need to step up. I have done everything, _everything. _I did it for them. I am not the monster here. I'm not the villain. It's you. You're the one my daughter's afraid of. It's you. She doesn't even know who you are because you make out like you hate her. Like you can barely stand the sight of her. Our baby doesn't deserve to be treated like, like-"

"Let's get something straight, here, Mellie. That is my daughter up there. That is my daughter. Don't you dare suggest that I don't love her. I do"

"What good is a love she doesn't understand? She's four years old. All she knows is the distance you keep from her." After a beat, her mother's eyes found her.

They were having a conversation that Evie didn't understand, that she didn't hear right. In years to come she would close her eyes and think back to this night, among many. And like pieces of a puzzle they would come to be together.

Evie would think of this: Two tall shadows hissing at each other in a pale kitchen-light. Two strangers talking about a thing Evie hadn't yet come to know, to understand. Finding a soft, cold pile of sheets in a bed where her Mellie should be.

Evie would hear this: Tiny feet padding down a hardwood floor.

Evie would taste this: Salty water running down sobbing red cheeks.

Evie would know this: Everything she wanted for- something called _truth- _was shrouded in this moment that she hadn't yet come to know, to understand.

Mellie glanced out of the corner of her eye and saw her daughter cowering in the corner, her two little puff-balls poking out lopsided on her head. Mellie and Fitz both exchanged guilty looks before Fitz sighed and looked away defeated.

"Evie, what are you doing up, sweetheart?"

"I couldn't sleep." she rubbed her hazy eyes. "Mamone couldn't sleep either."

"Well," she said, "Why don't you let your Daddy take you upstairs, back to bed?"

"Mellie, no." Fitz pleaded.

"Try, Fitzgerald. Your daughter had a nightmare, and you are going to try." Mellie insisted.

Evie could only watch. A sickness settled in her stomach, like when she did something wrong.

"No."

"Why?"

"I just can't."

"Why not? Try, Fitz. Please! Please, she needs you." Mellie repeated, becoming hysterical.

"I can't fucking do it! Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? I can't fucking hold her. I don't want to!" Fitz shouted. His voice was a terrifying hybrid of a man enraged and a dog on his last leg, dissipating in the middle of a dirt road.

When Evelyn Grant did cry, the sound could have pierced a grown man's heart. Her little caramel face burned red and her big brown eyes fell dark with sadness. And she wailed a sorrowful little wail.

And Mamone fell to the floor, abandoned.

Fitz rushed to crouch down and pick Evie up, but his daughter slapped him away. "No!" she yelled through her tears. _Daddy's mean_, she told herself, and the thought nearly broke Evie four in half.

He turned back to look at his wife, who was so distraught, she couldn't even see straight. He drew closer to her, holding out his palms for her to reach for. But she only beat her petite fists onto his chests as she cried. "No!" she moaned, over and over again. She didn't understand what was happening. She was a child, blinded by fear and sadness.

"_Are you proud of yourself? Are you proud of what you've done?" _Mellie criticized darkly or maybe that was his own guilt, whispering in his ear in that moment. Telling him that he was a cold, heartless father and a shadow of a man.

He only crouched down on the floor with her, taking her punches. He felt more worthless and defeated with every one. A small tear slipped from his eye, and he hung his head so Evie wouldn't see it. "_Please_, Evie." he said hoarsely. "You're making Daddy so sad when you cry like that. I'm sorry."

When his eyes grew ten times bigger and bluer with desperation, Evie looked at him finally, crying still. He He pulled her in for an embrace so tight Fitzgerald could hardly breathe. Then he lifted her up, her arms fell around his broad shoulders and her legs wrapped around his torso.

A wave of relief swept over him, and in that moment he was braver than he had ever been. In that moment he had the courage to hold his child in his arms and love her in a way that she deserved.

"Tell Mommy goodnight." he requested, turning away.

"G'night, Mama." she repeated softly.

Mellie saw the little stuffed bunny on the floor and hurried to pick it up. She kissed it, and put Mamone to Evie's cheek before handing it to her daughter. "Goodnight, my sweet girl."

* * *

**A/N: Mamone - pronounced like "Simone"**

**Questions? Comments? Are you bawling yet, or are you mad? I'll never know unless you review. . .**


	5. Old Friends and Favors

**This chapter was so much fun to write! _Little Evie _is a mystery, for those of you who have yet to figure that out. So much is to be revealed. Keep in mind that the devil is in the details. **

**We've seen Evie's world, now it's time to kick it up a notch, delving into the world of OPA, post-humorous.**

* * *

**Old Friends**

February 6, 2015-

A simple fact of life: History is his story, changing all the time. It wasn't a matter of fact, but rather perspective that could reveal events as they were. Even in D.C., in a court of law, verdicts aren't reached with facts or dates or time stamps, but rather unearthed by names, faces, _his story. _

At first, he couldn't talk about it. Her death was so gruesomely tragic that he, like the others who found themselves without, couldn't find the words.

For his presumed role in the event, he served time. He could handle jail. He could. He was good with routines, wake up, meal time, rec time, meal time, solitary, meal time, sleep. He kept to himself in prison, and, for whatever good it did him, he was a model inmate. No fuss. Though, if one listened carefully, such man could be heard whispering to himself in his sleep a prayer of sorts night after night:

_Seven fifty-two, seven fifty-two, seven fifty-two. . ._

Backwards and forwards, the man with the saddest eyes and scruffy beard would hum it to himself every night until he grew hoarse or fatigued, whichever came first.

Today, he had a visitor, an old friend. And this old friend would come every week to torment him, because he could.

"So, Huck, you going stir crazy in here yet?"

He said nothing, only gripped the phone in his hand to his ears with a grip so harsh his hands went white, then red. He burned a hole through the glass, staring down the enemy.

"It must be a real struggle keeping your sanity in a place like this. I gotta say, it's a brave thing you're doing in here, man." he said viciously, putting false a hand to his heart.

He shook his head in mock reproach, "What would our alma mater think of you now? Guess B613 won't be coming to the rescue this time around, huh?"

He was met with an uneasy silence.

"I _liked _your boss, Huck. I did. She was just so, sexy. I can see what you saw in her. She had the long black hair and the smooth skin and that ass of hers, perfection." he marvelled. " But what can I say? Shit happens. That's what you get for trying to go straight. That was where you made your mistake, trying to make friends with the good guys, the white knights. You're no white knight. You're a warrior, but you're no good at taking orders. You never have been. And look where you are now. You're a killer, Huck. It's in your nature to kill. People like us can only afford to make friends in each other, and even that's dangerous. We can't be trusted. You stayed loyal by her side for so long, I thought maybe," he trailed off, his lips stretching thin as he '_tsked_', "Though, I would have thought I'd taught you better than that. The scene of your handiwork was quite sloppy at best."

Huck continued to bore into him like prey.

"Did she scream? Or did you kill her softly, one clean slice to the throat." he studied him with fascination, his face revealing nothing, "She screamed, didn't she? I knew she was a screamer." he chuckled.

Huck's anger gurgled in the pit of his stomach. He fixated on the bright red lollipop that continued to poke in and out of his mouth. He sucked at it, slurped at it, until it whittled down to nothing but a soggy white stick.

"Olivia Pope's that kind of kill that sits in your stomach, giving you indigestion. That's why you're looking so green, Huck. Stomach troubles." The man with the ice blue eyes and mischievous smile stood up from his uncomfortable chair, gesturing to the guard a subtle nod. "But don't worry," the alarm of the prison door droned noisily, "It'll all be over soon." he winked before leaving. He secured a dark baseball cap over his head.

On his way out the door, he bumped into a familiar face, but wasn't recognized becasue the man was preocupied with getting inside to talk to Huck. He was asharp-dressed man. He wore a navy blue suit and a cobalt tie over a checkered shirt. He twiddled his sleek new cell phone in his hand.

"Sorry, man." the baseball-capped man apologized. He quickly unwrapped another cherry sucker and plopped it into his mouth. He stepped into the elevator and smirked contentedly. He would be back next week and the week after that and for the rest of the weeks to come. It was routine, and it was fun. A new-fangled type of torture.

When his old friend was safely out of the cold, metallic room, Huck howled like a mad man before being escorted back to his cell.

"I need to get into see him." the sharp-dressed man insisted.

"I can't let you do that, sir." the guard said gruffly.

"I'm his attorney."

"I have orders, Mr. Wright."

"You have an obligation to abide by the law, Mr. Hanover. Chuck, can I call you Chuck? I am his lawyer. He is my client. Whatever your orders are, are overridden by the law. Open those doors."

"You haven't been cleared, sir."

"At least tell me why. Do me that courtesy."

"I'm not asking you, I'm telling you, you are wasting your time. Your _client_ in there, isn't seeing you today or tomorrow."

Harrison continued to fiddle with his phone in his hand. His nostrils flared as he grew more and more frustrated. "We'll see about that. You have a good one."

When Harrison stepped out of the cold, colourless building, he decided to get creative, and he telephoned an old friend. Everybody in their line of work seemed to have a rolodex two-feet in girth, filled with the names of _old friends_. Never current ones. "Harrison Wright for the Attorney General, please."

"_Harrison,_"

"David, how are you these days?"

"_Me? I'm just fine, but I suppose I don't have to ask how you're doing if you're calling me so chipper at 9 o'clock in the morning. I'm barely in the door. It's too early for this_."

"Look, man, I need a favour."

"_Of course you do. But, I've told you before we're even, we've been even. You and me and your team don't do business anymore_."

"This isn't a business call."

"_Oh, really? You could've fooled me. Look, I'll have Alyssa set up a meeting for you on Thursday, at eleven._"

"Sounds good." Harrison said briskly before hanging up.

/

"Still no luck?" Quinn inquired.

"They aren't letting me in to even see him."

"What? Can they even do that?" she asked, outraged.

"Of course they can, Quinn. Or at least whoever's giving the orders can." Harrison said dismissively.

"B613?"

Harrison nodded.

"His hearing starts in a month, Harrison." Abby sighed.

"I'm very much aware of that, Abby. Thank you." He took a seat at the conference room table and sank into his chair as if it were his final resting place.

"Well, what's next?" Abby asked.

"I scheduled an appointment with David Rosen for this Thursday. Hopefully, it'll do us some good. In the meantime, we have a case of our own to work, so let's get on that." he ordered, clapping his hands together and standing up.

Abby followed Harrison out of the conference room as he walked into his office which to be Olivia's old one, "Maybe I should take that appointment on Thursday in your stead."

"Rosen doesn't want to see you."

"How can you be so sure?" she said, slightly hurt at the suggestion.

"Are you two screwing again?"

"No, but-"

"Then, he's not interested." Harrison chortled.

/

They operated like a well-oiled machine. She would have been proud. Even before she died, Harrison had promised himself that he would do whatever it took to ensure the immortality of the name on the door. Without the team's most valued members, someone had to take over, be in charge. Harrison oversaw all cases, made new hires in Casey Steiner and Emmaline Geoffries. They were young and naive and fresh faces. A bit troubled as well, but hadn't all of them been that way at one time or another? Harrison kept Pope and Associates going. He gladiated. And she would have been proud.

Every day Abby, Quinn, Emma, Casey and Harrison, too strided over the ugly blood-brown stain in the wood-panelling where Olivia drew her last breath. It couldn't be washed away or bleached out. They considered closing up shop, moving to another location to avoid ghosts, but they couldn't leave. They were all irrevocably tied to that location. Funny, she had always put her blood, sweat and tears into her work, but no one really found the humour in the irony.

* * *

**Any questions? If so, inbox me. **

**I hope at this point it's clear why Huck's in jail. . .**


	6. Old Friends and Favors, Part II

**Synopsis: In this chapter, Harrison has his meeting with David, making it the first time they have spoken one on one in three years. More is revealed about Olivia's death and the days following her passing. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Old Friends and Favors, Part II**

It's 2015. Time again to check in on an _old friend_.

David Rosen had done quite well for himself as his title as Attorney General had dictated. He was satisfied, and ironically, exactly where he had envisioned himself years before. And he fancied it tops, being on top. He had come a long way since tacking murals on his walls of his nemeses. Those were much more shameful, uglier times, then. Even as he concentrated on the thought, it all felt like nothing more than a horrible nightmare to him. He was grateful to have things go back to the way they were. His perky assistant was back. His reputation, salvaged. His hairline filling back in by the grace of God.

David had just sat down on the morning of the sixth of February. He had a coffee in hand and a grimace on his face. The setting was normal, but then the phone rang.

"You have a call on line one." Alyssa paged.

"Already? Damn, I just got in. This better be important." he complained with a sarcastic smirk.

"It's Harrison Wright, sir." Alyssa replied.

"Lovely," he picked up the phone on his desk. "Harrison," David grimaced.

"_David, how are you these days?_"

"Me? I'm just fine, but I suppose I don't have to ask how you're doing if you're calling me so chipper at 9 o'clock in the morning. I'm barely in the door. It's too early for this."

"_Look, man, I need a favor_."

"Of course you do. But, I've told you before we're even, we've been even. You and me and your team don't do business anymore."

"_This isn't a business call_."

It most certainly was a business call. People always just claimed it wasn't over the phone when they really, really wanted something. They called it a favor. "Oh, really? You could've fooled me. Look, I'll have Alyssa set up a meeting for you on Thursday, at eleven."

"_Sounds good." _Harrison said briskly before the line went dead.

David shook his head. Everything in him told David to lose Harrison's number the day he accepted the position of Attorney General. But, his curiosity got to him, and he caved. He knew what Harrison and his people wanted. The whole of America knew. A beautiful, young, African-American DC lawyer's accused killer was to appear before the court in a month. David knew Harrison and his people were probably scrambling to get their ducks in a row before the trial. And all of America would be watching.

David knew all of this, but his curiosity was spurred on by his own nostalgia, a bit of guilt, and sadness. He missed Olivia Pope in pint-sized amounts._ Damn her for dying_.

* * *

_Recall 2012. Post_

The masses did attended Olivia Pope's funeral. It was practically a tourist event that day. The service was beautiful. The ones who knew her best knew to bring white roses, something classy and tasteful. Open casket, but he didn't get close enough to see. It was a Sunday and it rained terribly all afternoon. People cried, strangers flocked from all over. He considered how Olivia Pope was a mystery to him. Did anyone ever really know Olivia? With a life just as mysterious and obscure as her death, how could they have? _Someone had to know her_, David thought, looking around as they lowered her casket into the ground with care. _Just look at all of these peopl_e.

Some faces in the sea of DC elite were recognizable to David. There was the President, of course and his First Lady. Mother. Mellie felt naked in the crowd of grievers, being plagued by her own nostalgia, an immense amount of guilt, and a miniscule amount of sadness. It was just the two of them today. Together, alone, together. Cyrus Beene and his husband, James who he had seen or spoken to since the day of the Defiance hearing. He still couldn't forgive that betrayal, the pivotal part Jams Novak had played in his downfall. He had trusted James too much, for that was his downfall. Sally Langston made an appearance. Of course Harrison, Abby and Quinn were there, huddled together under one single black umbrella, like orphans, caught in the rain without a mother to guide them. He considered going over to them to give his condolences, but David knew that whatever he said would come out sounding foreign and choked out. _Did she really have no one in her immediate family to whom condolences could be offered? Sad_, he thought. That struck a nerve with David.

As one of the his most trusted advisors and closest friends, it was almost expected that President Grant would give a eulogy to the dearly departed. He didn't. He pulled up in the Motorcade that afternoon with the First Lady dutifully by his side.

Sat quietly with her in the third row back at the cathedral.

Bowed his head when appropriate.

Closed his eyes when appropriate.

Squeezed Mellie's hand when appropriate.

And left Olivia's body behind when the time came.

He did it all that afternoon in immaculately rehearsed motions.

He surprised everyone through ordeal by keeping quiet and hardly speaking openly about Olivia Pope's death that year. But, with one foot already halfway out of the White House already, few had a mind to care what Fitz did or didn't say.

The media had a circus that day, and the ones before the funeral and on the ones afterword. It all got to be an excess of press coverage on her violent death. The Black community, women's rights groups, the entire Union wanted an answer, wanted justice. Here was this gorgeous, polished, brilliant woman, slain in the most powerful city in the world. They wouldn't stand for it. The media made use of America's distress and plastered Olivia Pope's face on every news station, night after night for a year until another bone was tossed out and the dogs grew hungry again.

* * *

Her body was quite ruined by the time EMS arrived at the scene. There was no salvaging it- her, rather. She had been stabbed several times over in her chest and abdomen. She bled profusely, hence the permanent stain left behind on the floor. They carried her out on a gurney, her elegant form, no longer elegant, deformed and broken, the glow of her brown skin, gone. Her eyelids were shaded closed, though her mouth was left slightly agape, as if she was still trying to inhale.

That was June 11, 2012.

* * *

They were taking a walk, and talking with the hopes that they wouldn't draw too much attention to themselves. They weren't going anywhere in particular, just wandering, walking and wandering.

David wanted to grab a hotdog, stopping off at a food truck. Harrison was forced to lower his voice, " You and I both know that Huck wouldn't have, couldn't have possibly done this."  
"I know nothing of the sort." David retorted.

"I do. Trust me. Look at me. You are not an idiot. You and I are both well aware of what Huck's capable of, what his skill set is, where such skills were acquired-"

"You should stop. As a lawyer, it is my suggestion that you stop." David said, reaching for his change and shoving it in his pocket.

"B613 is setting him up!"

David smiled politely at the hotdog stand man and reached for his food. "Give me a break."

"Oh, come on, David. I didn't come here to talk to the Attorney General. I need to talk to you, the Real David Rosen, conspiracy theorist, merciless dispenser of justice. Where is he?"

"Save me the speech, Harrison." he took a messy bite out of his hotdog, relish and mustard dribbling onto his chin. He swiped it away with a napkin, "And just for future reference, you and I were never friends." he added.

"You slept on our couch!"

"You and Olivia totaled my life." he snorted. "- And you all told me to be happy about it. You ruined my relationship, my reputation. You stole from me. Tell me, what do I owe you?"

"And Olivia was right there behind you when you wanted to pull yourself back up again."

"I don't want any part of this. I don't owe you or your people anymore favors You're only drudging up the past." They both took a seat on a sidewalk bench as David continued to gorge himself.

"Then why did you agree to see me? What was the point?"

He waited a long while to answer back. Truth is, he didn't have an immediate reason, or at least none that he could recall. He finished up his last bite. He slurped noisily at his cup. He spoke up finally, " You know what the most screwed up part of all of this is?"

Harrison regarded him with his undivided attention.

When he didn't answer back, David continued, " You say you're doing it for her, but he killed her. What about that do you not understand?"

Harrison sighed, " Huck did not murder Olivia Pope. The man sitting in that jail cell, the man who is getting ready to be hanged before all of America is not the one responsible. Are you really ready for that burden? They've got the wrong guy. Huck is innocent."

"Innocent?" David scoffed. "Innocent?" he repeated. "I'm going to do you one better and level with you here. You said it yourself - we both know what that man out there is capable of. He can cold-blooded and ruthless and carry out an order without thought. He's killed people, tortured dozens and killed them all. You say he's innocent. Innocent is not a term that can bend and twist however it suits you or me. He's going down for this, for what he's done. Huck's as good as dead."

"But, he didn't kill her." Harrison added lamely.

"Okay, and what evidence have you gathered to support this theory of yours?"

"You know I can't disclose that information to you."

David nodded, "None. You have nothing. Your whole team has nothing. You're asking me to stick my neck out for a murderer, but you can't even come to me with some proof? The case goes trial in thirty-four days. How am I supposed to take you seriously right now?"

"Huck did not murder Olivia Pope." he said, exasperated. He knew the truth as it was.

And the truth was this: Huck, Harrison's friend, his teammate, his gladiator, was not responsible for Olivia's death.

The frustration with his incapability to prove this truth as true, made him wish for another truth entirely. He fixated on this case for three of the hardest years of his life. Harrison bled over this case. They all had. They had lost their noble leader and mourned the loss while still trying to carry out her name and work.

"Yeah, you keep saying that." he noted, sinking back in the metal bench, clasping his hands together pensively. "A word of advice, you are all in way over your heads with this thing. Give Olivia what she would've wanted and lay the case to rest."

"She would have never given up." Harrison said before preparing to take off. He'd heard enough and it had seemed this meeting was turning out to be a colossal waste of Harrison's time. He was counting on Rosen to pull through. That was his last card. He wanted David on his side. As Attorney General, David could pull some strings to get Harrison in to see Huck before his hearing began and the whole mess of the trial was due to start-up again.

B613 had somehow made it impossible for Harrison to get in to see his own client. He just knew it. Someone was pulling strings.

Many nights had come when they all considered throwing in the towel, giving up the fight and allowing Huck to burn. They questioned whether it was worth the insomnia, trying to save his life. But Quinn insisted, and she persisted, and she dug her heels in until they resolved to keep going. Huck was her only family now, and she would _not_, she would _not_ let this go, let him go. No one was giving up. No one was throwing in the towel, not yet. They had a little fight left in them still.

"Wait,"

Harrison stood still, waiting, before turning back around to continue their discussion.

* * *

Thanks for reading!


	7. The Artist, The Thief

_**Hi! I hope you all enjoy this brief update. It is in keeping with the whole OPA side of the story, as they are the ones solving our dear Olivia's murder. I'm really trying to make this sequence of events as seamless and easy to follow as possible. If you've any questions/ comments in regards to the story. Ask away in the review or my inbox!**_

* * *

**-The Artist, The Thief-**

He wasn't doing very well. Not well at all. Huck did not like small spaces. He didn't enjoy being cooped up or kept in confinement. He didn't do well in jail. On the outside, he appeared to be completely undisturbed. It was his insides, though. His insides were screaming at him- murderer, killer, psycho, thief. He stole from people. Just like the government had taken things from him, Huck had taken things from others. He had never let guilt get to him- not at least, until he was forced to meet his shame, his crime, day in and day out. He stole from people by torturing them slowly, and this was how he did it:

First, he stole their consciousness by way of injection. Some of his victims screamed out, most weren't quick enough, though. He stole his victims' sleeping forms, stole their ability to move, tying them up just in case. They'd wake up in a tarp, sprawled like birds roasted for Thanksgiving. Then, he'd steal their voices with duct tape over their mouths. He'd carefully select a weapon of his choice as they would watch on with horror in their eyes. A knife or a drill maybe. Something subtle, elegant, classic. A brief introduction:

'Hi, you can call me Huck. I'll be torturing you today.'

Muffled screaming.

Next, the Artist- and Huck was an artist in the sense that he didn't so much destroy as he did create with his craft- would steal their secrets. He'd rip the secrets, the invaluable intelligence, from his victims either willingly or unwillingly. Their bodies were often left in a heap of mangy carnage. That was another thing he stole, blood. Gallons and gallons of blood over the years, from the stomach, the liver, the heart. It was ugly, doing what he did. The government's garbage man, only paid better.

After his work was done, Huck wrapped up their bodies, and stole away into the night. And he couldn't quite remember where he'd go after all was finished. It was a long time ago. He figured he probably wouldn't have wanted to remember.

He liked his job. He fed off the power. He revelled in the control. Huck took to torturing people like a moth to a flame. He had talent and artistry and skill. So naturally, he was hopeless from the start. And nobody, nobody walks away from that life. B613er's don't just walk away from the job, and become nurses or school teachers or firefighters or state senators, the stay killers. They find their commission from someone else, and they keep blood on their hands. They never lose the drive. They never stop killing, in their wildest fantasies, in their nightmares. They kill. And if Huck was truly a killer, when asked to carry out a task, he would not fail. When asked, when ordered, when commanded to kill, Huck could-would pull through.

Charlie made Huck into what he was. Charlie was there from the beginning. Huck was vulnerable, then. Charlie knew that, and he abused that, and he stole from Huck. No matter how hard Huck tried, he could never find himself again. He was changed, halved. Charlie came to see Huck almost everyday while he was in jail because he understood the nature of a killer being one himself. Charlie messed with Huck's mind everyday knowing full-well what that kind of damage it could instill. He loved it. Life, death, Washington, it was all big game to him.

* * *

December 23, 2012-

"Merry Christmas, everybody." Abby said, popping the glimmering disc into the machine. There was a pathetic fluorescent holiday tree glowing in the corner of the room and everything smelled a bit like rancid cinnamon.

"You got 'em?" Quinn asked.

"Oh yeah, and they are good." she replied. "New guy," she gestured to Casey, "you can give me that coffee and take a seat, please. I want everybody to watch this."

"So, I take it the video feed from that night was informative?" Emma interjected, sitting down at the OPA's round table.

Harrison, Quinn, Casey and Emma were all seated at the table while Abby stood, remote in hand.

/

Earlier that day, she had gone down to the Brightwood Hotel down the street from Pope & Associates to pay Mr. Shuman a visit. Mr. Shuman was head of surveillance at Brightwood and thankfully, very, very naive. Outside of the hotel was a camera facing the street, and it had a direct line of sight to the front doors of OPA's building. With no side entrances, the killer would have had to have walked in and out of those doors that night. But because of the high sensitivity of the footage, Abby wasn't able to get a hold of the tapes right away. Abby had reviewed the footage from June 11, 2012.

Everybody at OPA knew in their hardest of hearts that their co-worker, their loyal friend was innocent. Huck loved Olivia, everybody did, and he wouldn't have- couldn't have, killed her. The only problem was, Huck wasn't talking to anyone at all.

"_He must have been so traumatized, finding her the way she was_," they all thought.

"_No wonder he's not talking. If that had been me, well, I've no idea what i would do_." they said, shaking their heads.

"How do we help him?"

It was like trying to find a way to catch smoke with your bare hands. Only one person could fix Huck, and she was just a puddle of blood on the floor now.

When the police arrived at the scene mere moments after the act, they had found Huck on the floor and incoherent. He held Olivia's ensanguined form in his arms. He shook, and shivered, he rocked her as if she were only sleeping. There was no reviving Olivia Pope once the authorities had come. She was gone. The life she had carried inside of herself, purged and too, stolen.

He believed her last thoughts were of her, of the motherless child she borne.

He never articulated much after that day. It was unfortunate to watch the words go.

"_Shameful._" they all conquered.

/

The question for them all was since Huck didn't kill Olivia, who did? Who could have? A few names did come up, but it wasn't until Abby found the surveillance footage that day when the pieces had begun to come together for them. Sitting around the table, a consensus was met

"It was-" Quinn started.

"Yeah." Harrison said equally shocked.

Quinn clicked her tongued,"How could we not have known th-"

"Oh, come on. We were all thinking it," Abby interjected.

"- But nobody wanted to say it out loud." said Harrison.

"It was too obvious."

"Exactly."

"Obvious? Obvious doesn't even start up. We need a new word for it."

This kind of technical handiwork, to loop the same video feed for the whole day of June the 11, that idea could only come from someone determined to fly under the radar, to go undetected. Someone skilled enough to know that people don't pay close enough attention when view those video feeds.

In the video, Huck was seen wearing a thick coat and winter boots. And when he was booked that night, his clothes were stained with Olivia's blood. Olivia died in June. He wore a lightweight t-shirt and cargo on the night she died. But the time of night that Huck was seen entering the OPA building corresponded with the police's story. That was the give away, the smoking gun.

Their suspect messed with the tapes in a hotel across the street to cover their own tracks. Their killer was thorough. A Government Issued assassin.

"And we're sure it's him?" Quinn questioned.

"With motive and opportunity, plus his whereabouts were never once accounted for. I'd say it's him. I'd say he's our guy." Abby said definitively.

"But, why again? I mean, what's the motive?" Emma asked, perking up.

"Because, all of this spy stuff, it's just a game to some of them. And this guy, our killer, the one that screwed with these tapes, he's a sore loser."

"So it was revenge?" Casey inquired.

"A little revenge, but mostly redemption."

"So it wasn't about Ms. Pope?"

"No," Harrison answered quietly, his mind had since left the conference room.

"It was about him." Abby pointed to the screen.

"Jesus Christ." they sighed, watching the tape on a loop.

* * *

_**Please don't spear me! I know, I know you want the cuteness, and Evie isn't gone, we just had to uncover a bit of the mystery, a bit of the messy stuff in these past couple of chapters. Everything about Olivia's death has been a total mystery to the audience so far, but now you know more! More is good, right? Well, either way, I'll be writing so much more and I can't wait for y'all to read and review!**_


	8. Chapter 8 - Sneak Peek

_**Hi, there! This a little snippet of the next chapter to pique your interest. I'm actually quite excited about it. I think of all the Scandal characters, Cyrus is certainly the most fun to write because he's so dynamic, yet so unyielding in his character. It's fascinating! Anyway, this chapter delves into Cy's perspective on the days leading up to Olivia's death. THIS snippet, though takes place much later in the future, after the whole ordeal. Enjoy, and don't forget to review in that little box down there!**_

* * *

_Sometime in future. Post-_

Cyrus wasn't fond of being a teacher. There was so little thrill in it all. He was bored. He was always a firm believer in those who cannot do, teach, so needless to say, this wasn't in any of his game plans. But after Fitz resigned, after Olivia died, everybody had keep it moving. This was him, keeping it moving.

He stood in front of a class of sophomores at Georgetown giving a lecture on social sciences. "And in spite of the fact that we privilege and pride ourselves on being the greatest example of democracy perhaps in the entire world, voter turnout in this country is shockingly low. Why is that? Or first, let me ask you, what percentage of Americans voted in our most recent election? Give me a guess. Come on, don't be shy, no wrong answers,"

"Eighty-eight."

"Nope."

"Seventy-three."

"Wrong, where are you pulling your answers from," he laughed.

"Forty-six percent."

"Yes, yes, Mrs. O'Halloran. Less than fifty percent of Americans voted in our most recent election! Less than half. Do you what that means? How about I take seventy-five of you let you decide the fate of this classroom. At this point, that is our democratic process. And it's shocking isn't it? For the number to be so low. Tell me why."

"Well, Americans have lost their faith in politicians. Every scandal, every lie to surface, more and more people err from the democratic process-"

"I don't know. I don't think it's so much that the scandals or even the media deters people from voting. Nowadays, politicians can't agree on anything. Democrats and Republicans, liberals, conservatives, it all flies over people's heads. From the people's eyes, we aren't seeing anything being done in our legislature, so we don't care. We don't vote. I know for a fact that my parents didn't vote last year, not because they didn't care, but because they didn't see a viable candidate in Sally Langston or Hector Rodriguez."

" When it comes down to it, though Americans don't like Washington, and most of us don't like who we vote for in the end. We don't trust our politicians."

"Why? What do you think is the fundamental reasoning behind that distrust?"

"They're crooked, Professor Beene. They lie."

Suddenly the room was spinning, faces were mixing into one another. He looked at Tyler bizarrely, and he felt disoriented. It was happening again, another vertigo. The bell rang, and Cyrus was overcome with the feeling of falling. He rushed back to his office. Closing the door and locking it, Cyrus collapsed onto the floor. He was fading from consciousness, but he could have sworn that he was seeing ghosts permeating through the walls.

_They're crooked, Professor. They lie._

Cyrus often wondered, what did the world know? How much had been revealed from the gleam in Cyrus' eye? How much of the dirt from his filthy past be dug up?


	9. Conversations on One Thing

_**Hi, there! Here you have it, chapter eight, in full as promised. I'm actually quite excited about it this chapter. I think of all the Scandal characters, Cyrus is certainly the most fun to write because he's so dynamic, yet so unyielding in his character. It's fascinating! Anyway, this chapter delves into Cy's perspective on the days leading up to Olivia's death. Enjoy, and don't forget to review in that little box down there!**_

* * *

Conversations on One Thing

Sometime in the Future. _Post._

Cyrus wasn't fond of being a teacher. There was so little thrill in it all. He was always a firm believer in those who cannot do, teach, so needless to say, this wasn't in any of his game plans. But after Fitz resigned, after Olivia died, everybody had keep it moving. This was him, keeping it moving.

He stood in front of a class of sophomores at Georgetown giving a lecture on social sciences. "And in spite of the fact that we privilege and pride ourselves on being the greatest example of democracy perhaps in the entire world, voter turnout in this country is shockingly low. Why is that? Or first, let me ask you, what percentage of Americans voted in our most recent election? Give me a guess. Come on, don't be shy, no wrong answers,"

"Eighty-eight."

"Nope."

"Seventy-three."

"Wrong, where are you pulling your answers from," he laughed.

"Forty-six percent."

"Yes, yes, Mrs. O'Halloran. Less than fifty percent of Americans voted in our most recent election! Less than half. Do you what that means? How about I take seventy-five of you let you decide the fate of this classroom. At this point, that is our democratic process. And it's shocking isn't it? For the number to be so low. Tell me why."

"Well, Americans have lost their faith in politicians. Every scandal, every lie to surface, more and more people err from the democratic process-"

"I don't know. I don't think it's so much that the scandals or even the media deters people from voting. Nowadays, politicians can't agree on anything. Democrats and Republicans, liberals, conservatives, it all flies over people's heads. From the people's eyes, we aren't seeing anything being done in our legislature, so we don't care. We don't vote. I know for a fact that my parents didn't vote last year, not because they didn't care, but because they didn't see a viable candidate in Sally Langston or Hector Rodriguez."

" When it comes down to it, though Americans don't like Washington, and most of us don't like who we vote for in the end. We don't trust our politicians."

"Why? What do you think is the fundamental reasoning behind that distrust?"

"They're crooked, Professor Beene. They lie."

_Panic settled, alarms rang in Cyrus' ear at the words._

Suddenly the room was spinning, faces were mixing into one another. He looked at Tyler bizarrely, and he felt disoriented. It was happening again, another vertigo. The bell rang, and Cyrus was overcome with the feeling of falling. He rushed back to his office. Closing the door and locking it, Cyrus collapsed onto the floor. He was fading from consciousness, but he could have sworn that he was seeing ghosts permeating through the walls.

They're crooked, Professor. They lie.

Cyrus often wondered, what did the world know? How much had been revealed from the gleam in Cyrus' eye? How much of the dirt from his filthy past be dug up?

* * *

May 18, 2012

The first time Cyrus saw Olivia pregnant, he didn't notice. She was seven and a half months along. She was showing, but in her outfit, you couldn't tell unless you looked closely.

"We have to stop meeting like this." Olivia said, as Cyrus came to sit next to her on the bench. She wore a lightweight blouse that hid her swollen tummy, and a dark-rinsed denim. Her top was so clever, in fact, that Cyrus did observe her pregnancy at all.

"We always meet here. I kind of like it."

"It's getting stale."

"You look," his eyes onced her over, "different."

"How so?"

"Good. You look good."

"Thank you, Cy. So, how's our guy?"

He looked at her, mouth agape. "Our guy? He's distant. He says he's ready for four more years, but his eyes don't always match his mouth. He doesn't seem to want it the way he did before. He lacks the will, the drive.

"But King Cyrus is making him do it anyway," she said defiantly.

"Oh please, we never force Fitz to do anything he doesn't want to do. He's a grown man. He's a President for Christ's sake."

Olivia rolled her eyes.

"Am I wrong? Speak up, Liv," Cyrus demanded.

"No, you're right. He is perfectly capable of making his own choices. And so am I," she said, putting a hand over her belly, sighing deeply. A sad, thoughtful look played in her eyes.

"Now, what are you talking about?"

She turned to Cyrus, "I want to see him."

"Your timing could not be worse."

Smiling ruefully, she responded, "Well, I don't really think it can wait."

"It'll have to. Listen, Liv, it's a no for now. I have to keep him focused. I have to make sure that Fitz has everything he needs, including a clear head. I can't let you see him, not yet."

"Cyrus, please," she insisted. "I think it'll be good for us to see each other. To clear the air. It'll be fine. I just need an hour with him, tops."

"An hour? Is that all it takes these days," he said, looking to her knowingly.

"We'll only talk."

"'Only talking' will turn to only kissing, then the other stuff, then before you know it, he'll be trying to pull out from the race, so he can run off into the sunset with you," he explained breathlessly.

"I wouldn't let it go that far."

"Right," he snorted, "As if you had anymore self-control than he did."

She gave him the most innocent of puppy dog stares, and she never broke eye contact. She needed to see Fitz, she had to tell him about the baby. She owed him that much.

"Fine. Fine, I'll arrange it."

She kissed him on the cheek, and squeezed his shoulder. "Thanks. You won't regret this, Cyrus. You really won't." She gathered up her things from the bench and turned to walk away, but before she did- "Oh, and best to not tell the President I'm coming."

"You know he's not big on surprises, Liv."

"I'm hoping he'll like this one," Olivia retorted with a wink.

Looking back, this was the moment when Cyrus should have recognized, should have seen that Liv was different, changed somehow. He wasn't focused enough to notice her well-hidden stomach, her swollen fingers or her bright, pregnant glow. He wasn't focused, so he missed the signs. Maybe, just maybe, if he had found out she was pregnant then, at the right time, things could have turned out much differently for Liv, for them both.

/

May 19, 2011,

It was 10:46 pm. Olivia had only stepped into the White House sixteen minutes before, and she was leaving in tears. Being Cyrus, he had waited outside of the Oval Office like a good watchdog. He was mostly on the lookout for Mellie who could have made an appearance at any moment, but didn't. He had barked for Lauren to go home early that night. He was prepared to wait all night for them to talk to say whatever needed to be said. But now Olivia was leaving with tears rushing down her face.

There was only a lot of shouting. Cyrus couldn't make out what either of them were saying, but it wasn't pleasant. There was a lot of thumping and thrashing. Not the sound of passionate lovemaking, but something else. Something angry.

He was sure he could hear Fitz scream, 'I don't know what you want me to do.'

And Olivia may have shrieked back, 'You don't have to do a damn thing,' before leaving.

The door flew open from the Oval Office, and without looking Cyrus' way, began to speed down the hall. He got up to follow her.

"Olivia, wait a minute. Hold on. What's-"

"Nothing. I should never have come. I don't know what I was thinking." she clutched the coat she was wearing tighter to her stomach before turning away to leave.

Cyrus was almost relieved to find that they hadn't the reconciliation that Olivia had hoped for. Nothing had changed, Fitz apparently still couldn't stand to be in the same room as Olivia. He thought, just for a minute that everything was right with the world.

He walked back to the Oval with caution, "You've done a good thing tonight, sir."

Fitz cheeks were flushed and he held his head in his hands. "Excuse me?"

"You don't need the distraction. The whole Olitz firestorm is chaos, remember? I love Liv as much as you do, but the timing wasn't right. You did good tonight, Fitz. For once," Cyrus poured the President a glass of scotch for his nerves, poured one for himself, too. Though, he hated scotch. "You want to tell me what all of the buzz was about?"

Fitz sighed heavily before knocking the drink back in one big gulp, "I should have just quit all of this when I had the chance. I had an out, but I didn't take it because I was afraid. And now-"

"And now, sir?"

"Now, it's too late to run from this Presidency. I'm trapped."

The next night, Olivia was at OPA closing another case. She sat at her desk mindlessly as all but Huck had gone home already. There was no knock at the door.

"What exactly did you say to him the other night?"

"You should go home. Get some sleep."

"I can't. You know I can't sleep, not when it seems that everyone around me hasn't a freaking clue how to open up and share what the hell is going on."

"This doesn't have anything to do with you."

"Oh, the hell it doesn't. You said something to him, something to shake him up and now he's all hapless and confused."

"This is why no one tells you things, Cyrus. You get so emotional. Neither of us wants you to die. Take a breath, breathe some for Christ's sake."

He leaned over the desk, poking his face as close to hers as he could manage."Don't tell me to breathe. Don't tell me to take breaths. Somebody is going to talk, and tell me what the hell she said to the Leader of the Free World last night. Because whatever she said to him, whatever she did has him all loopy, and not thinking straight. Tell me. Tell me now. I want to know what the hell you said to Fitz last night." His face was beet red, and it the veins in his neck were big enough to pop.

"Cyrus,"

"TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK YOU SAID."

Out of the corner of her eye, Olivia saw Huck standing in the doorway. She gave him a nod signaling that she was alright and put her attentions back onto Cyrus. She stood up slowly, mindful of her belly and put a soft hand on her stomach. Cyrus watched her with horror. Her lips quivered.

"I told him that I was having his child. That I didn't want him to do anything, but that I thought he deserved to know. He deserved to find out from me. I owed him that much."

"And I can assume, you're-"

"Keeping it, yes."

He nodded his head and looked through her like he was processing a vision, "And when the press gets a hold of this story, of you?"

"If that happens, I'm prepared to face the music. Fitz should be too."

"I had a feeling this was how this ride was going to end: with the President's whore running the car off the tracks. Congratulations, everything you wanted served up on a platter."

"I don't want anything from your administration, and I cannot even believe that you've said that to me just now."

"Bullshit, you're all alike. You all want something. Money, fame, houses, cars, shared custody, book deals, interviews, Christmas', birthdays, countless kisses goodnight. What are you asking for? What do I do to keep this quiet?"

"I'm not some cheap slut that you can buy my silence from. I'm not disappearing or going away and neither is this child. I. Do not. Want anything. From you. You can go home."And just like that, he was dismissed, ties cut, immunity over.

Before leaving, though, he did mention this, "Let me be clear, Olivia, so that you know exactly what I mean. Your little confession has given me the green light to go nuclear on you, and I have the full force of the White House behind me. Fitz is strong and if steered incorrectly, he could be a bullet aimed straight between your eyes. You have no idea how big this target on your forehead could get, and believe me, I will not hesitate to put you down like the prize-winning bitch that you are. We are done. You are done. Consider this whole charade over."

When he left, Olivia finally felt that she could breathe again and sank back down into her chair.

Huck stopped Cyrus on his way out. "Out of my way, son," he huffed

"Cyrus Rutherford Beene, aged 59, works under President Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III as his Chief of Staff. Well known fact, Cyrus Beene has fought valiantly by the President's side for years. Not so well-known fact, he lives in Georgetown with his daughter and much younger husband, James, right? He's a journalist, which can't be easy to live with considering even lesser-known fact: Cyrus Rutherford Beene ordered a hit on Amanda Tanner in '09. She was pregnant with what she claimed to the President's baby. Her car was found in the river, apparent suicide. Yeah, I'm thinking not so much, right? Had your boy Charlie carry out the deed? Oh yeah, yeah I know Charlie, for we go way back. I kill people for fun, too, you know. I get paid, sure. But it was mostly for fun, and I was good at it.

I'm saying all of this to say of course, that I know you, Mr. Beene. And if I dig hard enough I might even get to know more, like where your little girl goes to school or which car in your driveway you like to take to work every morning. I already know where you live of course, so I already know where you sleep. You don't threaten that woman in there," he said pointing toward Olivia's office. "And if you even think on making good on any threat, I will saw you in half while your family watches, understand?"

Cyrus took a beat to calm himself down. Then, without flinching, he said, "You're a good puppy, Huck, loyal. But, I wonder how loyal you'd be if you knew the truth about Olivia Pope, and how you came to be here?"

Huck stepped aside to let Cyrus pass, and Cyrus smirked, "You have a good night."

* * *

_**So, there it is. I love this chapter, and I hope you've enjoyed reading it. Many thanks to my followers and those who have reviewed. I can't thank you enough for the encouragement!**_


	10. Chapter 10 - Sneak Peek

**Hello, all! How lovely it is to be back with an update. It should have come sooner. I know. I know, but between work and all other hell that's been unleashed upon my household, I haven't had the energy to write anything at all. But, I promised I would be back, and I think that last chapter ended on a juicy enough note to hold you over, right? Either way, here is a sneak peek of the next chapter of, "Little Evie, You're Something Special."**

**Tell me how you find it!**

* * *

Fourth of July, 2022

Fitz, Mellie and the children flew out to South Carolina that year to stay at the Pritchard family's old lakehouse for the fourth of July. The place had been kept in excellent condition. Mellie's Grandpa Robbie and Grandma Maybelle had built the place together with their own two hands in 1936. It was a square lakehouse, four stories high, with a creamy eggshell paint job and navy blue shutters. The interior of the house on the lake had a rustic, mahogany colour and smell. The front lawn was thick and a bit overgrown with common weeds. No one had ever bothered to mow it after Grandpa Robbie passed away in 1989. The house was classically furnished with very little upgrades made, except the basement now doubled as both a storage space for canned tomatoes and half-century old Spam and a game room for the kids. Fitz and Mellie's master bedroom was a huge, white space with a four post white bed, flat screen tv and sliding doors that lead to the deck outside overlooking the lake. They still hadn't made the upgrade to a wireless internet connection. The requirements couldn't be met in a place so secluded, so if any of them wanted to use the computer, they they were out of luck. When Mellie informed the younger kids of this, Teddy and Evelyn argued that there would be absolutely nothing for them to do without their laptops and ipads. When Mellie suggested that they leave them at home, ten year old Teddy scoffed. They brought along the ipads tablets anyway.

In the middle of the circular lawn, an immense weeping willow slumped amongst the weeds. Mellie and her sister Harmony used to climb the branches and swing from them in the summers. They'd run around the house playing pretend. There was a big, friendlier breed of magnolia tree growing beside the house, its branches daring so close Mellie could reach out of her window and yank one inside.

The house overlooked the clear water and was totally secluded from the rest of the world. In the summers, everything was slow moving and quiet. The days edged on, still, like the lake.

All three cars pulled up to the driveway. Karen brought along Michael, her newest boyfriend, taller than the last, less pretentious than the one before. They met in Karen's Psych class the year before and were inseparable.

Gerry pulled up with his very serious new girlfriend, Siobhan, who was oddly quiet at times, but nice enough. She rarely complained about anything, really. Plain and normal was written all about her. She wore forest green Chocos and her dirty blonde hair was gathered into one solid french braid down her back. Gerry loved most how smart Siobhan was, and kind.

The ride down had gone smoothly. Fitzgerald, Mellie, Teddy and Evie all rode down together in the same car. Fitz drove while Mellie rode shotgun. Mellie was craning her neck every now and again to make sure her kids were still alive in the back seats. Their heads were tucked so far into their tablets and other devices that each pair of eyes had begun to glaze over.

The house was classically furnished with very little upgrade made, except the basement now doubled as both a storage space for cans of tomatoes and century old spam and a game room for the kids. Fitz and Mellie's master bedroom was huge white space with a four post bed, flat screen TV and sliding doors that lead to the deck outside overlooking the lake.

With eight people and the dog in the lakehouse, it was sure to be a crowded weekend.

"Well, here we are, guys." Karen observed, her eyes squinted in the sun, "What do you think?"

Evie and Teddy rolled their eyes in sync and wheeled their bags to the front porch.

"They don't seem too thrilled to be out here." Michael said, concerned.

"They're just a little wiped out from the drive, I think. Once they get a solid nap in, I'm sure they'll be fine." she said with a smile. She wrapped her arm around Michael's waist, "Come on, I want to show you my old room."


	11. Nocturne

**Hiya! Terribly sorry about the little mishap. This IS the FULL update for those who were confused by my last author's note. Please enjoy and I do plan on updating very, very soon.**

**In this chapter, the Grant Family take a vacation to Mellie's home state of South Carolina. Years and years have passed since Olivia came to visit Fitz in his office that night. They've gone forward, moved on, it would seem. It would seem. Little Evie is now 10, Teddy, 12 years old and as shown, inseperable.**

**Tell me how you find it!**

* * *

Nocturne

Fourth of July, 2022-

Fitz, Mellie and the children flew out to South Carolina that year to stay at the Pritchard family's old lakehouse for the fourth of July. The place had been kept in excellent condition. Mellie's Grandpa Robbie and Grandma Maybelle had built the place together with their own two hands in 1936. It was a square lakehouse, four stories high, with a creamy eggshell paint job and navy blue shutters. The interior of the house on the lake had a rustic, mahogany colour and smell. The front lawn was thick and a bit overgrown with common weeds. No one had ever bothered to mow it after Grandpa Robbie passed away in 1989. The house was classically furnished with very little upgrades made, except the basement now doubled as both a storage space for canned tomatoes and half-century old Spam and a game room for the kids. Fitz and Mellie's master bedroom was a huge, white space with a four post white bed, flat screen tv and sliding doors that lead to the deck outside overlooking the lake. They still hadn't made the upgrade to a wireless internet connection. The requirements couldn't be met in a place so secluded, so if any of them wanted to use the computer, they they were out of luck. When Mellie informed the younger kids of this, Teddy and Evelyn argued that there would be absolutely nothing for them to do without their laptops and ipads. When Mellie suggested that they leave them at home, ten year old Teddy scoffed. They brought along the ipads tablets anyway.

In the middle of the circular lawn, an immense weeping willow slumped amongst the weeds. Mellie and her sister Harmony used to climb the branches and swing from them in the summers. They'd run around the house playing pretend. There was a big, friendlier breed of magnolia tree growing beside the house, its branches daring so close Mellie could reach out of her window and yank one inside.

The house overlooked the clear water and was totally secluded from the rest of the world. In the summers, everything was slow moving and quiet. The days edged on, still, like the lake.

All three cars pulled up to the driveway.

Karen brought along Michael, her newest boyfriend, taller than the last, less pretentious than the one before. They met in Karen's Psych class the year before and were inseparable. Karen was quite tall, strongly built. Shoulder-length, chocolate brown hair, a square jaw, bright eyes and shapely legs like Mellie.

Gerry pulled up with his very serious new girlfriend, Siobhan. Gerry looked very much like Mellie's side of the family as well, same ski-jump nose, high forehead and dimples. His girlfriend was oddly quiet at times, but nice enough. She rarely complained about anything, really. Plain and normal was written all about her. She wore forest green Chocos and her dirty blonde hair was gathered into one solid french braid down her back. Gerry loved most how smart Siobhan was, and kind.

The ride down had gone smoothly. Fitzgerald, Mellie, Teddy and Evie all rode down together in the same car. Fitz drove while Mellie rode shotgun. Mellie was craning her neck every now and again to make sure her kids were still alive in the back seats. Their heads were tucked so far into their tablets and other devices that each pair of eyes had begun to glaze over.

The house was classically furnished with very little upgrade made, except the basement now doubled as both a storage space for cans of tomatoes and century old spam and a game room for the kids. Fitz and Mellie's master bedroom was huge white space with a four post bed, flat screen TV and sliding doors that lead to the deck outside overlooking the lake.

With eight people and the dog in the lakehouse, it was sure to be a crowded weekend.

"Well, here we are, guys." Karen observed, her eyes squinted in the sun, "What do you think?"

Evie and Teddy rolled their eyes in sync and wheeled their bags to the front porch.

"They don't seem too thrilled to be out here." Michael said, concerned.

"They're just a little wiped out from the drive, I think. Once they get a solid nap in, I'm sure they'll be fine." she said with a smile. She wrapped her arm around Michael's waist, "Come on, I want to show you my old room."

It was true that the youngest of the Grant children were less than ecstatic to be on this family getaway. Sure, the lakehouse was picturesque, and the chance to spend time with their older brother and sister was a rare gem, but the car ride was cramped, long, and miserable. Not to mention Fitz's presence was sure to put a damper on their excursion.

He was as he had always been, terribly moody and stuck in his ways. Teddy at the age of twelve had seen first-hand just how stubborn his father could be. He had grown used to it, like a sick person coming to terms with an ailment. He loved Fitz. He liked the favoritism that Fitz showed him, and he liked the affection. He was, in more ways than one, a perfect son. Great grades, loads of friends, athletic prowess, and a winning attitude. It all came so easy to Teddy. He was the kind of child a father could dote on, make feel special.

But, there was an added pressure to being the favoured son, the apparent favoured child. Soccer, baseball, swimming, lacrosse, Teddy had done it all and excelled, but it was never enough. Fitz was always pushing Teddy to be more. More than he was, more than he could handle. That pressure had added strain to an already delicate father-son relationship.

"Teddy get you and your sister's bags." Fitz ordered. "And don't just leave them anywhere, take them all the way up the stairs to the second room on the left."

"Yes sir." Teddy mumbled, yanking the bags from Evie's hands. She stuck her tongue out at him playfully. He winked back at her.

"How you feelin', Dad?" Gerry asked.

"Stiff." he gruffed.

Gerry look to Evie, "How about you, munchkin?"

Evie was distracted by the look of the house. It was so old looking and marvelous in a way that the ranch back in California wasn't. Fascinating. "I'm fine." she replied, absentmindedly.

"Shit, it's hot out here." Mellie exclaimed, tugging on the neck of her lightweight blouse. "That is one thing I do not miss about South Carolina. It's always balmy as camel's hump in the summer. Christ!"

It had been years since the family had come down to stay. The last time Fitz and Mellie had come to South Carolina was in 2003 when Gerry and Karen were still learning to count on one hand. Things were different then. Quiet, more simple. Their lives had yet to be cluttered by sticky affairs, assassaination attempts or stolen elections.

Mellie was greatful for the simpler times. As much as she loved Teddy and Evie, she sometimes longed for the days when her marriage was more than just for security, or for show. She knew in her heart that Fitzgerald wanted the same thing. He only lacked the ability to show it. The Grant clan was all together for the first time and years, and this weekend had to run smoothly for them all. Mellie needed to prove to herself that when given the chance, all of them could sit down and spend some quality time together like any other all American family.

"Wow, it's beautiful." Siobhan marveled.

"It's old as dirt," Gerry said dismissively. "Come on,"

Mellie, Karen and Siobhan went into town to go grocery shopping later that evening while the others stayed behind at the house. Fitz, Michael and Gerry took to chopping firewood out back, drinking a few beers and catching up. Evie and Teddy hung out inside.

/

They had been engaging in a thrilling round of "Spy vs. Supervillain" when they both collapsed onto the couch, thoroughly tuckered out.

"You know what we should do?" Teddy said, mischievously.

"What?" Evie asked in a sigh.

"We should run away." he said.

She sniggered.

"I'm serious."

"Teddy, no. Why? Where would we even go?"

"It'll be fun. I saw the paddle boats out back, we could sneak out when it gets

dark and cross the lake. I mean, we've already got our stuff packed and everything."

She could sense the excitement mounting in his voice. He was always so clever, her brother. And, to be fair, the idea of running away did appeal to her, even if she couldn't grasp why.

"I don't think so, it's getting dark, and if Mama finds out, we're gonna get in so much trouble."

"Evie, we can paddle all the way to the next town over before anybody finds out.

Don't be such a baby."

"I'm not being a baby. I just don't want to get in trouble. And I'm a poor swimmer."

"We're not back stroking across the lake, we can take the boat." Teddy said, triumphantly.

Evie took a long pause and thought about it. Teddy could take good care of her in the unlikely scenario that something did go wrong. Plus, if they got caught, she could just argue how her big brother roped her into doing it. "How will we be able to sneak out without being seen?"

"There's a little crawl space underneath the dock. I saw it when I went downstairs. When it's dark enough, and if we're really quiet, we can slip out from our room, back down here in the basement, crawl under the dock and into the boat with all our stuff. We'll need a flashlight of course," he added, the cogs turning marvelously in his head.

A noise came from upstairs, footsteps, "Mom and Karen are back."Evie said.

"Okay, let's reconvene upstairs after dinner."

They heard the muffled call of Mellie's voice, "Evie, Teddy, haul ass, and help us get this stuff on the grill, please."

The looked at each other naughtily.

"Who's doing it, then," asked Teddy.

"I'm not."

"Me neither."

They sank further into their perches.

"NOW, kids! Help us with these groceries." Mellie demanded.

They both groaned.

/

Darkness had settled, the deck was lit by dying orange flames, flickering in and out. They had stuffed their faces with juicy cheeseburgers, charred hot dogs, pasta salad, chips, crisp veg, and they were full enough to pop.

"Okay, okay, okay, when Dad was President,"

"Oh, Karen, please, no," Fitz said, throwing his hands up into the air.

"No, no, let me finish, Dad, please. When Dad was President in I guess it was his third year, me and Gerry used to be so _bad_. I mean, I couldn't have been anymore than fifteen, and already I was skipping class, sneaking out of my dorm room at night to get drunk with my friends, smoking weed.

It was a mess, but for my sixteenth birthday, Fitz bought me my first car, this big, sexy, black escalade. It was gorgeous. When he gives me the keys to it, Dad goes, '_Karen, you're a good girl, I know you can handle this. Prove me right.' _So, it's the night of my little boyfriend, Chris' big End of the Year party at his house. My friends in I are cruising in around town, drunk, drunk out of our minds."

"Karen, please," Mellie begged laughing hysterically, waiting for the punchline. She remembered the 2011 fiasco quite well. As funny as it was to think about now, as Karen was a grown woman, it was a nightmare when it first happened.

"I would just like to remind everyone here that had no part in this little escapade." Gerry chimed in proudly.

"Okay, so way in the car, my brand new car, on the way to Chris' party. On the highway, not ten minutes out, when who pulls up?"

"The police," Fitz said.

"The police! Of all people." she said exasperated, still reliving the experience in her mind. "I was _terrified_."

"I'm sure," Siobhan said.

"So, yeah we were arrested. And I had to call my Dad. I didn't do that at first though. I called a friend of my Dad's first, Olivia."

There was an odd little clink of silverware on Mellie's end of the table. Fitz fell into a random coughing spell, but everyone else was so amused, they didn't notice.

"Mum and Dad_ did _find out about it maybe two days later and they were so pissed. They took away my credit card and my car and I had to spend the whole summer in the White House which was_ awful_ in case you were wondering."

"Thank you, honey," Mellie said, sipping her wine.

"Sorry, mom."

"So you were arrested," Michael asked, seemingly impressed.

"Detained for like, five hours, but essentially, yeah." Gerry said.

"How could I not have read about this or even heard. . ." Michael inquired.

"Olivia was always very good at what she did. Saving my behind was all in a days work."

"_Fitzgerald has always kept those with extraordinary resources and, um, talents in his tight little circles. Isn't that right, honey?"_ Mellie replied viciously, giving eyes over to her husband.

/

Teddy and Evie had already been excused from dinner by this portion of the evening.

"Is that everything?" Evie asked, pacing around the bedroom in circles.

"Yep."

"Alright, let us go over the list one more time: canteens."

"Check."

"Blankets, pillows and what have you."

"Got 'em."

"Lighters."

"Yeah."

"Flashlight."

"Yes, Evie."

"Provisions."

"Of course. I have enough Ham n' Cheese sandwiches packed for at a week."

"The Twinkies?"

"Come on, sis." he smiled.

"Okay. This is still a bad idea." she said apprehensively.

Teddy peaked outside the window overlooking the deck. "Okay, it looks like they're finishing up. Let's head down to the basement."

Gingerly, they took the staircase down to the basement. They hung down in the room for everyone else to come back before Evelyn just couldn't wait anymore.

"It's dark, Teddy. Let's just go." she insisted

They popped open the basement window, Teddy helped Evie through first, then she grabbed his hand and pulled her brother through. On all fours, they crawled quietly underneath the wooden deck, Teddy leading the way.

It was difficult, as there was very little space between the moist ground and the wooden heading above. It occurred to Evie mid-crawl that there were probably snakes under there, but she couldn't stop. At night it was still very hot and sticky outside, she could feel herself growing sluggish. But there were only a few feet more. Teddy was leading the way. All would be well.

"Shh- quiet," he hissed.

There were footsteps from above. The light on the deck flicked on. Whoever was up there was quite still, lingering, waiting. But open discovering nothing and no one, slid the door back shut, it was dark once again.

They crawled the remaining way to the small, blue paddleboat. They both slung their bags over into it. Teddy flashed the torch into the boat to check for holes, and when all was clear, he wobbled in, one foot in front of the other. Then he sat down at the front of their vessel.

He stuck out his hand, "Come on."

Evie followed. She sat plunked down on the bench and fumbled over the knot in the rope. When it was undone, she pushed off, and they floated out.

For a long time, they paddled along in silence.

But, after a while it was getting harder for Evie to paddle because the oar was almost as big as herself and Teddy got the feeling they were steering away from their destination.

"Why do I feel like I'm the only one paddling?"

"I am, it's hard. My arms are getting tired. I can't do this anymore. I need to stop." she complained.

"Fine. Let's stop for a minute. Look over there," Teddy instructed, pointing to a far off corner of the large body of water. It was dark, but she could still make out a small clearing in the moonlight. She looked back and saw the house not far behind them. The kids were a good ten minutes out from home. They could still turn around. "That's where we're headed. That's our newest conquest. What should we call it? I think it should be called Theodoreland."

The clearing was at least another thirty minutes out. It was a funny thing, this wild dark. Back home, nighttime was night, sure. But there was always life somewhere. People somewhere. Down in the woods, there was nothing. Nothing but the murky black water and the ghoulish black trees surrounding it.

"Teddy," Evie's small voice said. She sounded sleepy, too.

"What?"

"Do you ever think about where I come from like, who my Mom and Dad are?"

"I know who your parents are."

"I know, but my real Mom and Dad. I think about them sometimes."

"Mom and Dad _are _your real Mom and Dad. Just like I'm your real brother and Karen's your real sister and Gerry's your real brother. We're as real as we feel. Besides," he said, his tone changing from serious to light, "where we're going there won't be any grownups ever, ever again. No one to tell us what to do or where to go. No more stupid prep school,"

"Or tennis piano lessons,"

"Or having to eat our vegetables,"

"Or bedtime!"

"And no Fitz." Teddy said pointedly. "No more dumb Dad yelling at us or bossing us around."

"No Mom." Evie was reminded sadly.

"Yeah." he agreed.

They wallowed in that reality for quite a while, each conjuring up all of the other things that wood be sorely missed when they went away. No more lacrosse, no more ice cream sundaes or pepperoni pizza. No more long drives down to the beach, no more racing bikes down the street. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

"Do you think they know?" Teddy asked, his voice shaking.

"Know what?"

"That we've left. Do you think the others have figured it out already and are looking for us?"

"Who would come looking for me, Teddy? They don't care about me, especially Fitz. He's probably happy to be rid of me. But, I don't care. It's just us now."

Looking around, Teddy could see that they had floated further out on their own and they were now sitting, in earnest, in the middle of the great lake. It was remarkably dark out there. The stench of aquatic life and algae filled their nostrils. Tiny bugs danced on the water's surface, making little _click-clacks_ and whirring noises. Moisture permeated through the air and it was balmy out there.

Evie reached in between her legs, down into the rucksack. She couldn't see down into it, but she almost had what she was looking for when her elbow jerked and her wooden oar plopped into the deep current, disappearing underneath.

Her heart sank, with only one paddle, the journey was sure to be prolonged. She shoved her hand into the water, stretching herself as far as she could go to search for it. The boat was tipping as she reached for it and water fell into their carriage. Teddy was still looking ahead and even though she couldn't see him, save for the silver moon lining all around him, she could tell he was thinking hard.

She struggled to reach further into the water. She got down on her knees in the boat for leverage. She thought she'd had had it when-

_A disappointing little splash in the water. Like a stone, not a little girl._

"What was that noise?" Teddy flicked on the flashlight and turned to his sister. But, looking back into the canoe, he saw no one.

"Evie?" he cried. He pointed the light into the thick, blue water and saw little ripples forming. "EVIE?"

He dove into the water and swam around frantically, completely unable to see. He stayed underneath for twenty seconds before poking his head back up. No sign of her. He dove further, this time swimming ten feet below the surface, willing the lung capacity to keep him there for a good minute. His fingers grazed something solid once, but reaching his hand around it, found only the second oar, he let go of it and resurfaced.

"Evie?" his called. A vomit-inducing panic set into his stomach. Was he drowning? He couldn't believe. He couldn't breathe. She could swim. She was gone. The water had taken her.

It was so dark there, so quiet, save for the sound of his own heart thumping in his head, he thought of curling up and sinking to the bottom like a stone, the water filling his eyes first, then his ears, then his lungs, and he, too would die.

/

Half an hour later, the sullen boy dripped quietly into the master bedroom. He flickered on the lamp at the bedside table.

"Teddy? What's wrong?" Fitz said groggily, too sleepy to notice his son's current state of shivering dampness.

"Something terrible's happened."

* * *

**And, there it is. I'm shaking a bit myself from writing it. It was definitely an experience. Questions? Comments? Review. Review!**


	12. Chapter 11 - Sneak Peek

Hiya. Back with another update, faster than the speed of lightening. I must say, I was shock to see how of you thought I had drowned our heroine! Heavens, no, readers. Bobblehead is never dead. BOBBLEHEAD LIVES!

Haha, I'm losing it, either way, here it is, part two of "Nocturne" so called "Nightswimming"

* * *

Nightswimming

_"You, I thought you knew me, this one laughing quietly/Underneath my breath, Nightswimming" - REM_

"What's wrong, son?" Fitz repeated. Awkwardly, he shifted upright on the bed, throwing back the covers. He tried not to wake his wife who was a notorious light sleeper. Taking a better look at him, Fit could see now that his youngest son was fully dressed down to his socks and shoes, but also soaking wet. The way the water pooled down around his feet, dark and thick, he could have mistaken it for blood that drenched him. Water dripped everywhere, though. Teddy smelled sour. He look to be in a catatonic state, and it was then that Fitz knew that whatever Teddy had roused him for was something horribly, painfully wrong. He had had this ill-feeling, or something like it, years ago. He repeated the question.

"Evie, she's out there, Dad," Teddy stuttered, his voice losing traction. The words came out sounding hollow and whispy.

"What do you mean? Out where?"

Mellie was slowly waking, thinking she had heard voices at her bedside, "Fitz," she groaned in a thick, sleepy voice. "Teddy, what's the matter?"

"Where is Evie. You said she's out there. What do you mean?"

"It was dark, Dad. I only turned my back for a second. . . It was so dark. I couldn't see?" His eyes fell to the puddle he was making.

"Look at me, son. Where is Evie?" Fitz put his steady hands on Teddy's shoulders. Teddy wasn't making any sense. He was talking jibberish and shaking violently.

"Teddy, honey, are you alright?" Mellie asked.

His head bobbed up and down rapidly, but she couldn't find this as confirmation.

She circled around to the other side of the room, reached into the closet and put a thick blanket around his shoulders. Looking at his disheveled face, she began to get that same feeling that her husband was. Anticipation sinking into the depths of her stomach like a stone.

"Tell us what happened," they said in unison. There was a sense of urgency about the question now.

"Dad, I'm sorry. She can't swim. I tried to go in after her, but it was so dark and I couldn't. I kept going under, Dad. I tried." He sighed, "I should never have. . . I was going to-t-to-to. . ." he trailed off. He was tremoring so intensely, and so pale, he looked downright morose.

A sharp wave of panic shot through Fitz, mingled with frustration, exhaustion and anger. His heart thumping faster, pupils dilated, the veins in his forehead and neck swelling. He squeezed his son's shoulders in a death-grip. Forcefully, he ordered, "Where is Evie?"

"Fitz, stop it." She tried prying his hands off of him with no use. "Stop it!"

"No! You tell me where she is!" he shouted. "YOU TELL ME WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO MY DAUGHTER-"

"-I tried to save her. I couldn't do it. I tried!"

"Stop it, Fitzgerald, please. You're hurting him. Let go!"

Fitz sunk his nails in and rattled him, shook him something awful, his head and neck dancing around on his shoulders. Mellie was afraid it might snap. "No, NO! WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HER? WHERE IS SHE?"

"PLEASE, STOP IT, FITZ!" She threw herself between them as her husband still raged.

"Tell. Me. Where. She. Is." He shouted.

"SHE"S OUT THERE!" Teddy screamed, pointing to the black lake outside of their bedroom window.

* * *

**_Tell me, have I got your attention?_**

.


End file.
